Chapter Text
<What is love supposed to feel like?>
Sitting side by side on a rainy night in the Mephistopheles, Dante finds themself asking Sinclair something that, only a few days prior, they had never even begun to consider.
"Huh?" Sinclair replies, his tone coming out much more aggressive than he intends for it to. He doesn't mean to have such a visceral reaction, truly, but this was one of the few things that had managed to catch him by complete surprise as of late.
It wasn't uncommon for Dante to ask him the most mundane of questions in an attempt to regain scraps of their knowledge, but it was unlike them to ask something of this nature.
He supposes that it was inevitably going to come up sooner rather than later, especially considering how fast their friendship has developed as of recent. Still, it doesn't exactly mean that he has a satisfactory answer. It's not really a question that he actively thinks about, especially since being recruited into the company.
Looking over to them now, he notices they're purposely avoiding his gaze. Not that eye contact is exactly possible with a clock prosthetic for a head. Regardless, it's clear Dante is avoiding looking at him.
"Ah, I'm sorry... I just didn't expect you to ask something like that." Sinclair mumbles, fidgeting with his hands as he stumbles over his words.
Dante stares at Sinclair in anticipation of a response, hands set politely in their lap, clock head tilt slightly to the side. Sinclair notes that that's something they tend to do when they're confused, or curious about something.
He isn't exactly sure why, but he's found himself paying more attention to their mannerisms lately. He finds himself hoping that Dante has noticed some of his behaviours, too, before he quickly dismisses that thought out of embarrassment. Still, he often finds himself wondering whether or not his manager notices how often he finds himself standing by their side, like a duckling following its mother for guidance.
Sinclair swallows before he begins to speak. There's an obvious hesitance and uncertainty in his voice that he silently prays Dante pays no mind to.
"When I love someone, I... I get this warm feeling in my chest, and, um... hm. Have you ever heard the expression 'butterflies in my stomach'?"
Dante shakes their head.
"Let's see... I'm not really sure how to explain it, but you know when you feel nauseous? It's kind of like that, but in a pleasant way. I want to protect them, too. Sometimes I love someone so much that I would do anything to keep them safe... I think." Sinclair's voice tapers off toward the end as he progressively loses confidence in his words.
He bases his definition off of his feelings for Dante, but whether or not that much is obvious he's not really sure. Using his family as a point of reference for this sort of thing would be too painful, too much to bear, he thinks. Though that his him wondering whether his feelings for Dante are really all that similar to the sort of familial love he would feel as a child, when he was much more naïve, much more ignorant to the harsh reality he now found himself in.
Dante nods a few times as Sinclair stumbles through his explanation. Although he can't see their face, Sinclair swears he can see them considering his words carefully. Maybe he's been staring directly into their prosthetic for so long that he had subconsciously began to attribute human like qualities to it.
It's nice to actually be listened to for once, he thinks. Usually the other sinners would dismiss his words without taking a moment or two to actually consider what he was saying. Valuing his opinion was one of the most basic acts of common decency Dante could do for him, yet in this environment he found himself valuing it much more than he typically would.
<Does that mean that I love you?> Dante asks, clock hands spinning around faster than usual in an almost erratic sort of motion.
Dante's words catch him off guard, causing his cheeks to flush a deep shade of red.
"Manager? Err, I mean— Dante?"
<I didn't really have a word to explain my feelings until now,> Dante elaborates, laughing sheepishly. It sounds more like a series of various clock related noises instead of an actual laugh, but Sinclair has been around them long enough to recognise it as an attempt at laughing regardless. <So when you explained it like that, everything suddenly made sense.>
There's a brief moment of silence. The both of them can't bear to even look at each other, but can see the other out of the corner of their eyes.
<...So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love you.>
Sinclair has never seen Dante be so upfront with their feelings before. He feels honoured to be the first to bear witness to it, even more so considering that this sudden profession of their feelings is directed towards him.
He's not entirely sure he deserves it. Still, he knows better than to ruin the moment.
He scoots himself closer to Dante, so close that their legs are touching. His arms tremble slightly as he reaches outwards. Dante simply observes, staring down at him with intense curiosity. Finally, he wraps his arms around Dante's side and looks up at them to gauge their reaction. They seem to be... blushing? There appears to be a faint hint of pink on their prosthetic, where their cheeks would be if they actually had a face.
He buries his head into their shoulder as Dante leans into his touch.
"I think... I love you too."